


Vulnerable Jack

by Raptor



Category: Alias
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-06-16
Updated: 2007-06-16
Packaged: 2017-10-08 18:37:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/78385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raptor/pseuds/Raptor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack in handcuffs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Consciousness began to return both slowly and painfully. With effort he attempted to lift his left hand towards his face and found it still to be shackled to his right. He winced as the handcuffs bit into the bloodied skin surrounding each wrist and gradually raised himself into a sitting position. A searing pain shot through his chest as he contracted his abdominals, most likely due to a broken rib or two, he thought to himself.

He gingerly took stock of his remaining catalogue of injuries: a right eye nearly swollen shut, a couple of suspiciously mobile teeth and the requisite muscle aches and bruises. His joints and limbs looked to be intact, all major organs appeared to be functioning properly and he did not seem to have sustained any significant blood loss. All in all, he was still in decent condition and that bode well, he reasoned, for his immediate survival. His captors were most likely looking to extract key information before they disposed of him, if not he would be far worse off already.

Just two weeks previously Jack had been overjoyed at the arrival of his first child, a beautiful baby girl. Laura's labor had been somewhat difficult, but even after hours of painful contractions, she glowed with love and happiness when her daughter was first placed into her arms. As Jack first held Sydney he never imagined before he could feel such love. His own heart swelled with happiness.

Mother and daughter had been home for just over a week when the call came in. While he deeply regretted leaving his family so soon after Sydney's arrival, neither the evil of the world nor his superiors at the CIA would make further accommodations for his personal schedule. At least, he surmised, he was fortunate enough to be present for his daughter's birth and first few days of life.

Within minutes of hanging up the phone he was on his way to headquarters and within hours on a plane headed across the Atlantic. Two days into the op a trusted informant turned and he found himself pinned down with no feasible method of escape. After a prolonged firefight he ran the odds and concluded surrender was his only viable option. He covertly sent off an emergency signal, and with no other alternatives remaining, he relinquished his weapons, raised his hands and slowly walked out from cover to meet his adversaries face to face.

With blurred vision he gazed around the dimly lit cell. The only light source, a small, barred window high up in the concrete wall, streamed in what little illumination it could from the dark night's quarter moon. Yesterday had been a long, difficult day, but what lay ahead would most likely be much, much worse.

His respite was short lived and with a clank of the bolt the reinforced door swung swiftly open. Strong arms slid under each of his own as he was roughly yanked to his feet and dragged into the passageway, unable to move quickly enough himself for his captors' liking due to the leg irons clasped around each ankle. Arriving at a sparingly outfitted chamber he was quickly stripped of his shirt and restrained with leather straps at his wrists and ankles to a makeshift gurney and doused with ice cold water. Electroshock cables were then attached to his hands and feet.

The questions began again. _Who are you? Who are you working for? What is the nature of your mission? Who are your contacts in this region?_ The same questions, over and over. The same lack of response. The same swift retribution for his lack of cooperation. With each interrogation session he found himself losing more and more strength and his resolve slowly weakening.

With luck his last ditch effort to signal his colleagues would have reached them by now. Just a little longer, he thought, hold out just a little longer. As the last jolt of electricity tore through his body, he slowly began to drift into unconsciousness, and wondered with his remaining moments of lucidity, _Will I ever see my daughter again?_


	2. Chapter 2

Consciousness returned slowly with the metallic clang of prison gates being raised. The sound was muffled by its distance at the far reaches of the cell block, but was clearly identifiable to him. His every sense had been heightened after weeks and weeks of isolation. The passage of time was becoming more and more difficult to deduce as hours passed, day upon day, devoid of any contact whatsoever with the external world. What remained of his perception of time suggested that it was sometime during the early morning hours. The period of quiet stillness he most dearly dreaded.

With cognizance comes awareness and the realization of where he is and how he had come to be there. He cherished those blessed moments before recognition set in, when the muddiness of sleep still held most of his mind in check. He longed for it. Slowly he reflected on his current circumstances: held prisoner by a country he would give his life to defend; arrested by colleagues he would die to protect.

These quiet hours were worse than any physical torture ever humanly devised. Lord knows he had the pedigree to make that claim, he thought derisively, having endured more than his share of various types of torment. Sleep was elusive and by experience, he noted, would not likely return this night. His mind spun onward through the semidarkness filled with unwanted emotions and memories.

Just weeks (or was it months?) earlier he had thought his life could be no better: a stunningly beautiful wife with an intellect to match his own. His young daughter, so precious and captivating, an innocent child he loved with all his heart and would do anything to protect. In a split second, on a dark, drizzly night it was instantly ripped away.

A Russian spy? His wife? Ludicrous. Ridiculous. Upon first hearing this implied by the agent sent to his home, he nearly knocked the young man's teeth out. His wife was dead, his child in mourning, he did not have time to defend his wife's memory or himself from such outlandish claims. Just days after laying an empty casket to rest, agents once again returned to his home, this time without questions, but with demands and handcuffs.

Jack took the few moments he was granted and knelt down to Sydney's eye level. She clutched him fiercely around the neck as he tried to explain to his child, who had just days earlier, lost her mother that her father too would be leaving her. Moments later Jack stood as Sydney was helped off into an adjoining room safely shielded from what was to come.

"You are being detained on suspicion of treason." Nothing, other than his wife's betrayal, could have stung more deeply than these words. In a state of shock and denial, he held out his hands, as handcuffs were latched around each wrist. As he was lead away he briefly glanced over his shoulder at the now closed door down the hallway, his own eyes rebelling with the slightest hint of moisture as he thought of Sydney's tear stained cheeks.

Mercifully daybreak finally arrived, evidenced by the jingle of keys as the morning shift guards delivered breakfast to the handful of prisoners held in this high security wing. If his captors held true to form he would soon find himself once again facing hours upon hours of intensive interrogation. In some sense he knew, these sessions were a reprieve; anything was preferable to the resounding silence of his cell's four stark white walls.

His premonition proved correct as he was led in waist and leg chains to the interrogation room that had come to feel like a surreal second home. He sat down as his wrists and ankles were unceremoniously locked to heavy circular steel rings welded to the tabletop and bolted to the concrete floor below. The humiliation of the ordeal had long lost its effect on him after the routine had been repeated day after day. He had been through much worse, he surmised, as he was rarely treated to overt physical abuse if even more rarely with respect.

Innumerable hours of invasive and embarrassing questions began. _When did you first turn on your country? Were you acting as a double agent? Were you in collusion with your wife?_ One denial after another fell on deaf ears. Finally, the underlying question was presented. _How can you expect us to believe that you, Agent Bristow, a brilliant game theorist and unparalleled field agent, could be deceived by this woman for ten years?_ Jack slowly raised his eyes from his shackled wrists and looked to meet those staring him down from across the table. With a piercing glare he stated unapologetically, "I loved her."

Later that evening he lay on his back, his head propped up in his hands, relieved the most recent session of questioning had ended. The ultimate gamesman duped by an even more masterful games player. Game theory be damned! he mused. Never again would he leave his heart so exposed. As the reprieve of sleep began to overtake him, his thoughts drifted back to Sydney and the final haunting image of her reddened, bloodshot eyes seared indelibly into his mind. How he longed to hold her in his arms and wipe those tears away. As sleep finally swept over him, he wondered once more, _Will I ever see my daughter again?_


	3. Chapter 3

Consciousness slowly swept over him as he dimly sensed the remote echo of footsteps. Odd, he pondered, rarely was there discernable movement in the cell block during such late night hours. He noted the clang of metal upon metal as the barred gates opened and closed successively and the distant footfall made its way closer to his cell. A midnight caller, unusual at best he thought, as he contemplated what scenario might necessitate such a visit. Few options appeared to be promising. As the lock clicked and the door began to open he swung his feet to the floor and prepared to greet this new arrival.

Nearly two years prior he had lived through worst day of his life. Before that moment he had thought nothing could compare to the devastating revelation and aftereffects of his wife's betrayal. He had been agonizingly wrong. After word of Sydney's demise reached him, he was nearly out of his mind with grief. The immediate hours following the revelation were spent overseeing test after test with what little of her remains had been found at the scene. The results only confirmed the inevitable. She was truly gone.

His daughter's death had ripped out what had remained of his heart. With an anguished spirit and a stoic demeanor he endured the makeshift arrangements for Sydney's memorial. Even with the scientific confirmation of her death, questions still lingered. He soon realized the official investigation, cursory in his eyes, would never suffice. What little hope remained would not be satisfied within the bounds of the CIA's rulebook. After much contemplation he sought out the only other person he knew, without a doubt, he could trust in this particular situation.

Jack slowly paced along the river's edge sliding his palm along the metal handrail protecting unsuspecting passersby from the treacherous descent to the water below. He stopped in the dim evening's light and turned to watch the star's reflections subtly move across the rippled water. Within minutes he felt her presence by his side. No words were spoken for several moments upon her arrival. Jack simply stared into her eyes and saw his own grief reflected back again. He thought to himself, it had been right to come, to include her in this. This woman, who had taken so much from him, he now realized, had also given him his most treasured gift. As his gaze met hers, he knew, the pain in her eyes was genuine, of that he was certain. He wondered absently, how much else between them had been true.

They worked in concert with each other melding their contacts and information together to follow every viable lead. In this lone task trust returned quickly. Every waking hour was filled with strategizing and analyzing each and every minutia of data. Finally, after months of little if any progress, a faint glimmer of hope. Could it be possible, could she be alive?

Desperation had made him reckless, he realized, as he sensed their presence moments before the trap was sprung, enough time to steel himself for what was come, but too little to avoid it. As a circle of heavily armed agents formed an unbreakable ring around him and steadily moved in he complied as ordered. Carefully he raised his arms, slowly knelt to the ground and clasped his hands with interlocking fingers behind his neck.

She's left me again, he thought, as agents seized each wrist in succession, restrained them behind his back and roughly dragged him to his feet. Within hours of his arrest he found himself confined to a tiny concrete cell care of the United States government. Not an unfamiliar situation, he thought acerbically, remembering back to a similar circumstance twenty years earlier. This time, when his wife had vanished, with little hope left for his own escape, he had aided in her flight. There was the tiniest of chances Sydney was alive and he resolved to do whatever it took to keep Irina out there looking for their daughter.

He reclined onto the metal bunk set against the wall in the dimly lit cell and stared up at the uneven cracks trailing along the concrete ceiling above. With similar surroundings came old memories, flooding back from two decades prior. He vividly remembered his painful admission from long ago that the success of his wife's deceit had been utterly dependent on his blind, unquestioning love for her. He knew this still held true, as he had then, that his love had been a necessity. As he rolled onto his side to face the wall he closed his eyes as a new revelation began to sink in. Even the strength of his love would not have been enough to power that deception alone. Yes he had loved her, but on some level he now knew, she had loved him too.

As he attempted to analyze what his late night visitor had revealed to him, he considered the likelihood of the information being both accurate and true. He would not put it past his former employers to use this card against him as some sort of devious interrogation technique, save for one man, who knowing this to be true, delivered the message himself. His caller retreated from the cell as the door firmly snapped shut and was securely bolted in the wake of the withdrawing figure. He gently laid back, let out a deep breath he had unknowingly been holding and closed his eyes in thankfulness.

Sleep is elusive tonight and for the first time in memory, Jack thinks to himself, it is a welcome state. This time he knows he has held on long enough. It has been officially confirmed, Sydney is alive. Hours later, as sleep finally begins to overtake him, with deep gratitude and a sigh of relief, he opens his heart and permits himself a flicker of hope. As his mind slips into unconsciousness an imperceptible smile draws across his face and he thinks to himself, _At long last, I will see my daughter again._


End file.
